


Cheated

by Dawn_twilight



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fellowship of the Ring, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Two Towers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7753849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_twilight/pseuds/Dawn_twilight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn finds he can’t resist this one temptation.  Cheated: To defraud, to deceive, to elude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheated

**Author's Note:**

> In August 2009 my good friend Romanse asked me to write a short story to go with a piece of art she was contributing to a challenge on the LegolasAragorn LJ called Beloved. She was doing a blind exchange in which someone would get her art and my story and she got a story as well to go with her request for a serious emotional and physical hurt/comfort (torture, rape ok) with Legolas being hurt and Aragorn comforting. 
> 
> Anyway, she liked her offering, but I though I’d write something for her too…For Romanse, because I love ya!

it calls to him…

…for many nights now. 

In the darkness of the forest he can hear its whispering words, its promises.

Shaking his head, he turns from his sentry, from his charges, making another circuit of the camp and the black terrain around them. 

Silent feet carry him across their resting place, their small reprieve from the torments of life. 

Dawn is still along way off, the night lasting unnaturally long and it drains him…wears down his reserves, for he longs to see the beauty of the morning sun, to rid himself of this blackness and his own dark thoughts.

A small noise sounds in the camp and he turns to see a mound and small feet and hands peeking out from cloaks that have been spread to cover the ground and the halflings.

Rough snoring is coming from the dwarf as he reclines against the rocks he has piled for his bed, his axe still in hand, his boots still on, his head canted to the side. His great beard is unbraided, his only concession to relaxation yet he appears to be completely and soundly asleep.

The fire has long gone out, doused after a quick supper of fish, in fear of being seen. He stokes the embers, piling the ash to keep them warm. In the morning, when it comes, they will stack on fallen branches and finish the last of the venison sausage and fresh vegetables. He fears they will be without food until they reach the borders of Lothlorien and the aid of the Lady Galadriel.

Perhaps then, his heart will be lightened and he will get a reprieve from his derelict and treacherous thoughts.

Since Gandalf fell…it is as if a shroud has blanketed him. He can feel the protection that the wizard offered leaving the fellowship and it scares him to realize how weak he is without it.

Suddenly gentle moonlight filters through the canopy of trees and when he looks, he can see that the moon beams have found the fair prince of Mirkwood. Legolas, his friend of old lies lightly against the trunk of a tree. His clear blue eyes open, yet fogged in sleep.

He takes a moment to look upon his friend. To see the soft curve of his cheek and the slender hand that supports his golden head. Dirt smudges his peaceful face, yet his beauty is not marred, for in elven sleep the world can not reach him.

Aragorn’s eyes travel farther down the well built body, lithe and slender, elegant but strong. His fine silver shirt covers him and Aragorn can tell that the leggings have been loosened for comfort. He moves a little closer, his eyes traveling from the lean legs to beautifully crafted boots.

Legolas may look a vision, but Aragorn knows that beneath the beauty there is a warrior at heart and for some reason this thought stirs within him an excitement, and a desire he can not quite understand. 

Another thought forms in his head, terrible and beautiful and the constant whisperings crescendo. The voices speak to him; urge him, but one voice demands.

_Take what you want._

And as he moves closer to the elf he realizes that voice is his own.

*~*~*

He can sense movement, yet he is not alarmed. 

He is in the company of trusted friends and if there were a threat, Aragorn would have raised the alarm.

Someone touches his face, a caress that is both tender and yet demanding.

Soft fingers move through his hair as he’s eyes focus and he can see the outline of a man standing above him. The darkness is so complete, but the touches must be those of his friend.

“Aragorn?”

“Shh…tis just I. Come, I have something to show you.”

Legolas rises and follows his companion into the surrounding woods, wondering what would be so important as to leave his duty.

“It is just above the ridge.”

He follows behind, careful to not make noise that would give their position away to any orc that might be about.

The trees shake as he passes; a sudden wind blows through the boughs and branches. The sky is utterly dark, the moon hidden behind clouds, but Legolas can see the shadow of the man moving just ahead.

They reach the top of the ridge and he steps forward, trying to make out a threat in the darkness, unprepared for the attack that presents from the rear. He hears a twig snap and turns to see a hand holding a rock as it descends upon his head.

The impact rattles his teeth and the sound of it sickening in his own ears. He is stumbling and unable to get his hands below him to break his fall.

Landing in a heap he lies dazed, not understanding who has struck him. Night stars dance behind his eyes and he can feel blood trickling over his forehead and into his ear.

His arms are pulled above his head and tied tightly together, tethered to the base of a large tree. 

Rough hands accost him, quickly unbuttoning his shirt, smoothing over the flesh of his chest. The cool night air skitters across his skin, rising gooseflesh over his body. A mouth attaches to the lobe of his ear and gently sucks.

“Aragorn…what are you…”

“Shh…can you not hear them?”

He does not understand. Hands move lower to the lacing of his leggings, already loosed before he took rest this evening and he begins to comprehend. “Nay, you can not…”

A hand strikes his cheek and the night stars return. “You will draw them to us…they will come and pilfer the camp, kill the ring bearer and take the ring…you must be quiet.” 

Soon those hands, the hands of one of his dearest friends tug on his leggings, sliding them slowly down to bare his hips and thighs. 

Aragorn scoots back, taking each foot in hand and removes his boots so that he can remove his clothing all together, so that he is naked from the waist down. 

Gentle, yet teasing kisses start at the insole of his right foot and then slide to the back of his knee. Before he can form a protest, pull away he picks up the smell of the foul creatures below the ridge. 

Aragorn has led him to the place of discovery. 

If he should but protest, make a sound, the camp shall be compromised.

Tender lips and lathing tongue soon make their way to the hollow of his hip, kissing and sucking the flesh there, biting to mark him. “Please…” he whispers, knowing his pleas will be of little use. 

“Do not beg…it is not worthy of your station.” And then the mouth engulfs his rod, limp and lifeless but under the ministrations becoming hard. 

Legolas struggles, twisting and turning as quietly as he can, but he finds no reprieve from the mouth or the wandering hands. 

He is devoured in every way. Hands work his sack, squeezing hard as the mouth works his flesh. Aragorn licks and nibbles his length, making obscene noises of pleasure. 

Legolas squirms, trying to draw up his knees to stop his assault. His prick pops out of Aragorn’s mouth as the man stands, letting him curl in on himself.

The noises from below continue, so he dare not call for help.

Soon his legs are being pulled down and away from the protection of his body. He looks to see the man completely naked, hard and aroused, looming over him. He sits on Legolas’ legs to hold them. “I will bind them too if you do not remain still and then when I am done with you, I will leave you here for the orc to defile.”

The words startle him, but not as much as the thing that now inhabits his friend’s body, the evil that seeps from Aragorn’s very pores. 

He even smells of a different creature.

“Now stay still my beauty," Aragorn demands, digging his fingers into Legolas thighs, bruising him, marring his skin. "We have many hours before dawn and I hunger for you. My appetite is nigh insatiable.”

Shall I fight or give in?

Shall I allow these atrocities or call for help and give away our position?

And what of Aragorn? If I resist will the evil completely overtake him?

The man must have sensed Legolas' struggle or perhaps his acceptance, because he nods to himself, then leans over the elves body, sniffing Legolas' hair. “Long have I desired you. Long have I waited…Long have I wanted to take you.” 

Soft kisses rain down on him again, his neck and then his chest is peppered with biting teeth and soothing tongue. 

A pebbled nipple is cruelly pitched between clamping teeth as the man leans over him to draw it into his mouth, suckling as if a babe to its mother’s breast.

Legolas watches the head of dark hair as the mouth moves lower, the tongue dipping into his navel and he thinks, I can allow this madness...for Aragorn. 

I can withstand for now. 

Aragorn moves farther down his body, resting a hand on one of Legolas’ hips, his mouth inches from Legolas’ wilting prick. “This will not do,” he says, but he isn’t speaking to Legolas, so lost in his own head that his eyes hold no recognition

The mouth engulfs him again and Legolas shivers with the feeling of the hot, wet mouth and the cool, damp night air. The ranger’s hands move down between his legs, pushing them aside to reach his goal. His sack is manipulated again and then the mouth is on him there, sucking in the smooth and hairless skin. 

Aragorn fumbles something beside him and then a slick finger is circling his hole. He tenses, yet not giving up his resolve to endure. The finger wiggles against his entrance, working its way into the first knuckle and then the next. Soon the whole thing is inside him, followed by another and then another.

Instead of thinking about what is happening Legolas concentrates on the feeling of the hard ground beneath his bare back, the brittle leaves that rustle under his weight.

But a brutal pinch to the inside of his thigh brings him back to the fingers that work him open.

“Stay with me,” the man hisses. “Or I shall call out my passion for all of the Middle Earth to hear.”

The fingers are pulled out then and his legs are pushed back, his knees to his chest and then Aragorn shifts up and over him. lining himself up with Legolas’ opening. He can feel the firm end of the man’s prick against him and he takes a deep, shuddering, breath and councils himself to relax. 

His hole burns, his body is on fire as his flesh thinly stretches over the blunt end of the cock. 

He breathes in a few halted breaths and then holds them as Aragorn pushes in inch by agonizing inch, slowly opening him, until finally Legolas can feel a hairy sack come to rest along the smooth skin of his ass. 

The man is fully seated within him...Aragorn has claimed him.

He finally lets loose his held breath, taking in a needed lung full, waiting and yet dreading what will surely come next, what will be demanded of his body. 

The hands holding his legs relax and fall away, allowing his trembling legs to come to rest around Aragorn's waist. The cock in him shifts, pulling, but not painfully, at his lining. Aragorn moans deep in his throat as Legolas reflexively tries to push the man out and his own sack and prick nestle and rub against Aragorn's hairy groin. He does not know what to make of the sensation, or the trembling of the body that crouches over him.

They stay that way but for a brief moment. 

And when he looks into Aragorn's eyes, what he sees there frightens him all the more. 

He considers calling out, his resolve crumbling, but a hand descends over his mouth as the man pulls out and slams brutally back in, rocking his body hard over the ground beneath. 

The pain is all consuming, racing through his body, encompassing him as the pounding continues. Each upward thrust bounces him closer to the tree’s trunk where his hands are tied and soon he is almost leaning against it with the force of each movement.

His skin splits. 

He knows he is bleeding from his opening but also his back is abrading from rubbing against the harsh ground below him.

His head hits the tree as the slack on his arms give a little.

The sounds from below rouse, shouting begins and Legolas thinks surely they most have been discovered. 

He looks to Aragorn to see if he hears the change, but the man is beyond this world. His face shows his pleasure as sweat drips from his neck and chest. He bites his lips and his eyes are pressed tightly shut.

But the fighting below soon settles down and Legolas thinks it must have been a skirmish within the ranks. He thinks on the closeness of the troops to their camp and how they must make away at first light, he thinks about the distance between them and his elven kin and judges that the little folk can make the journey in yet a day’s time. 

He thinks of many things so as not to be in the present.

Aragorn’s breathing changes, becomes more erratic, bringing Legolas back to the here and now. The man grabs Legolas left leg behind the knee, pushing it up and back and then placing it over his shoulder as he shifts forward, rising up on to all fours, getting even closer then seems possible. 

He is grunting quietly despite biting his lips. 

The eyes that are closed open and bore into Legolas, as if the man can see his very soul.

He can not turn away from those eyes, the eyes of his friend. They hold him to the spot and will not let go.

Aragorn is losing his pace; his rhythm is breaking as he frantically ruts into Legolas’ body. 

The movement is primal yet wrong.

Unnatural.

The man's dark eyes grow wider as he shudders and but for a brief moment Legolas thinks he may see some sorrow there. 

The hips bucking against him find purchase and press in hard and Legolas can feel Aragorn’s hot seed spurting within him, filling him. 

The man’s prick, slick with his own fluids still moves, but slows and then finally stops.

Aragorn collapses forward, resting his full weight on Legolas, nuzzling his ear as if they are tender lovers and then the man falls swiftly to sleep.

They lay out in the open under the dark woods and Legolas prays that they will not be discovered, prays that when Aragorn awakes, he is himself again.

He keeps his mind occupied with thoughts of the quest and his part in it, because he refuses to think of what has happened.

Even with the man lying atop him, still inside him, he can not think so. 

He can not yet admit that Aragorn has used him…that his friend has raped him.

*~*~*

When he comes to himself Aragorn is still tightly sheathed in soft flesh. Desire sparks within his loins again and he moves slowly, lazily into the body below him, feeling himself stiffening as his strokes become firmer and harder.

The channel he is tunneling is so tight and smooth and caresses his cock, squeezing him. And it is almost his undoing, but he wishes for this sensation to never end.

Low moans escape his parted lips and he finally opens his eyes. 

It is still dark and somewhere in his muddled mind he can hear the danger just over the ridge.

But none of that matters to him.

Looking down he is not prepared for the beauty he sees.

The body beneath him, bending to his will, with its expanse of gloriously smooth skin and a slender prick lying against a trembling thigh. He reaches forward and pulls on the cock, feeling it twitch but it remains soft in his calloused hands.

The whispering continues to babble in his head, telling him to take what is rightly his.

He wraps the trembling legs around his waist, but can not get the leverage he wishes, can not get close enough, and so he withdraws, ignoring the muffled yelp below him. 

Twisting the battered body of his companion, he forces the elf up onto his knees and plunges back in. Holding hips in a firm grip, bruising the pale flesh of his friend, he moves with new purpose.

The world is so dark yet he can enjoy the light of the soul of the one he is taking.

His hips buck against Legolas’ ass, hitting the tender skin there, marking him with his fingers. Soon he finds his rhythm, pulling the body against him as he thrusts up, pushing the body away as he retreats. 

He holds his tongue, instead listening to the sounds of slapping flesh and muffled cries. 

He reaches around and grabs the limp prick hanging between Legolas’ legs. He holds it firmly; stroking the shaft until it hardens in his hands.

Legolas lay bare beneath him, up on all fours. His silver shirt is rucked up around his arms and over his shoulders. His hands still bound so that he has to take his upper body weight on his elbows. 

Aragorn follows the curve of the arched back with his eyes, down to the parted crease of Legolas’ ass and sees his own prick disappearing into the center. The sight of this excites him all the more. 

He watches in fascination as his cock rams into the hole and then pulls out, over and over again. The soft skin clings to him and then sucks him back in and all the while Legolas is muttering, mumbling below him in his native tongue. 

The power he holds over this exquisite creature is intoxicating. And he plans to drink his fill.

He remembers he holds a prick and squeezes tight, too tight and hears another muffled noise from the elf. He knows that he can not go on forever, but the night is still upon them. 

He has time.

He’s quickly reaching his climax and pushes up hard, rising to his feet and bending the body below him. He forces Legolas to move with him, closer to the tree. Once he has him where he wants him, he pulls back on the body, kneeling in the dry leaves, hands still holding the hips, making the elf rise and fall on his hard shaft, impaling him on his rod. 

He is so close…

A few more moments pass. Legolas is still rising and falling in his lap, working his shaft to total completion and when he comes he bites into Legolas shoulder to keep from crying out.

Finished, for now, he does not withdraw. He leans in closer to the body, untangling their limbs and lying them down on their sides, back to front, by the tree. He is still sheaved in the body of the elf and already he can feel himself growing hard.

Unbelievable.

The body he holds shakes from time to time but is mostly still. 

His own muscles ache, but it is a good ache.

Running his calloused finger tips up and over the side and hip of his friend, he feels the shudders that rack the elf in front of him, the body he is still so intimately connected to and his cock hardens all the more.

He has sampled his friend, but has yet to feel the elf’s climax.

He rocks forward gently, soothing the fine flesh of his bed mate and feels the hole around him involuntary tightening, squeezing him. He does it again to see what will happen and then he thinks that perhaps, if he gently rocks while massaging the prick of the other, that when Legolas’ completion comes, the hole will spasm and squeeze him to his own release.

Taking Legolas prick firmly in hand, he gently squeezes, feeling the elf squeeze him in return, pulling Aragorn into the hot heat of his body. He runs his hand along the slender length, flicking his wrist and twisting as he reaches the end. And then he does it again, varying his speed, rocking into Legolas as he squirms. 

“Numa…”

“Ah…but you will not cheat me of this, mellon. I will have all of you.” Aragorn works his other hand between their bodies, feeling where his prick moves into the warm body of the other and then lower to caress the heavy sack.

Legolas is keening, making the most exquisite noises and Aragorn is so close. He continues to massage and squeeze the soft sack, feeling it shift and draw up in his hand. 

It seems he is not the only one close, so he decides a change of position is in order.

Rising up, taking Legolas’ with him, he gets to his knees. He pushes Legolas closer to the tree, so close that the elf’s arms come up to wrap around the trunk, his face pressed into the bark. 

But Legolas’ head is lower than his ass, which Aragorn forces higher to meet his continual hard thrusts. 

The elf is shaking now, trembling so much that Aragorn fears his body may fly apart. He continues to push into Legolas, digging his toes into the earth beneath him for purchase and then something changes. 

The body below him becomes so still and then it’s happening. Creamy white fluid spills over the tree in spurts and the ass around his prick constricts so tight around him he nearly blacks out. 

Legolas’ hips move rhythmically, instinctively and Aragorn lets go of the hips and reaches around to grab hold of the spurting cock, trying to make it last, feeling the ass around him milking his own cock of every last drop. And when it is done Aragorn doesn’t remember how to breathe. 

His vision blurs and he lets go of his friend, falling back and pulling roughly out of the elf’s body, landing on his ass on the hard ground amongst the dried leaves.

The whispering voices come to an abrupt halt. And he starts to come to himself, as if waking from a pleasant dream until he sees the bound elf lying silent and still against the tree. “What have I done?” He asks. “Legolas?” he implores, reaching forward to touch a shoulder.

“Numa…No…do not touch me.”

The shoulder below his hand trembles as Aragorn works to loose the knots from the rope that binds his friend’s wrists. Legolas scoots away and grabs his leggings, pulling them on and finds his boots. His face is abraded, dried blood trails down from a wound on his forehead and his fingers are bleeding, fingernails clogged with dirt as if he has been digging in it. 

His fair complexion is pale and his eyes…Aragorn has never seen such sorrow there.

“Mellon…please.” And as he says the words he looks down at his own nakedness. “What madness is this?”

His friend moves away from him and they both hear something in the distance, a call for help from the camp. 

Aragorn runs to the pile of clothes by the tree and starts to dress, but Legolas is already gone, moving gracefully through the forest.

*~*~*

He runs swiftly toward the camp, eager to spill blood. 

He knows the man is close on his heels, but he can not bother to worry about that now. 

Now he is needed. 

His companions are under attack and he longs for the battle.

What he finds is not what he expects. The human Boromir is dispatching an orc with his sword and the dwarf Gimli swings his axe, embedding it in the skull of another. The hobbits are huddled close together, swords drawn, but the others have kept the few orc away.

His blood sings for revenge, but it seems his enemies are few. Perhaps scouts for the band at the bottom of the ridge. He jumps into the battle, even though he knows it has already been won. Gimli is bearing down on a fleeing orc, meant to chase it off. But Legolas has no such intentions. He grabs the fleeing creature around the head, pulling the foul smelling body close to him, twisting with his forearm until he hears the crack of its neck.

He doesn’t even consider his bow, but pulls the twin blades from their sheaves and charges forward, sinking one to the hilt in the back of an orc running off into another direction, slashing another through the stomach, satisfied when its entrails spill out of the wound. 

Movement behind him catches his eye and he turns, swinging his knife downward, meeting the handle of Gimli’s axe.

“Legolas,” Gimli screams. “They are gone. What has gotten into you?”

He smiles, giving a small but bitter laugh. Choosing to ignore the strange looks he receives from the dwarf.

What indeed?

Aragorn comes crashing through the underbrush, looking at Legolas with such sadness, but he is not able to bare the guilt of the man. 

“We need to move,” he says. “Pack the camp before the others come.” And putting words to action he grabs his meager belongings, stuffing them into his pack. He helps the hobbits gather their belongings, not looking to the others until they are ready.

“We are but a day’s journey. If we hurry we may make it by nightfall.” The sun is just rising, but he takes no comfort in its warmth. 

Somehow he thinks that he will never be warm again. 

They set out at a fast clip, Legolas in the front, the dwarf bringing up the rear and the two men in the middle to herd the hobbits. 

He speaks with no one throughout the day, even when they call a stop to allow a rest for the smaller folk.

He does not answer Sam’s questions about the scrapes on his face or the dried blood near his hairline.

He does not look at the dwarf as Gimli studies him.

And above all else, he dare not look upon the man.

They begin to move again and within hours he can see the trees of Lothlorien ahead in the distance…their sorrowful song crying out for him.

Soon after they cross the river and make the borders. He can hear Gimli talking about the elven witch and then the guards are upon them. He raises his bow, but knows it will do no good. 

If wanted, the others would simply overpower them.

Haldir and Aragorn speak about an audience with the Lady, but he pays them little attention. 

He is drifting.

They travel through the forest and onto the great city. The beauty and grace is beyond compare. Never has his eyes encountered such a sight and yet his heart is still so very heavy. 

As they stand before the Lady Galadriel, she speaks of comfort and rest.

He has told her about needlessly going into the mines of Moria and wonders what else she may see in him.

Does she know about the defilement of his body and the wounds to his very soul?

They are shown to a grove, a place of safety and rest, but he longs only to bathe. He fetches a pitcher of water, intending on finding an excluded spot to wipe off his soiled flesh. 

The lament for Gandalf deepens his sadness, but he can not fully grieve while he still carries his own hurts. The hobbits settle, the men share a conversation, and the dwarf snores in slumber.

He retreats unseen through the trees, intent on finding a place to take care of his needs. He doesn’t expect to see the Lord of the land standing in his path.

“Come Legolas.” Celeborn directs him, taking his arm and leading him ahead. “I wish to speak with you.”

He does not protest but walks with the Lord, through the winding path and to a beautiful valley that opens into a stream, still holding the carafe of water. 

“I perceive what has happened and I know the sorrow of your heart.” Celeborn tells him, leading him to the streams edge. “I will have you bathe in the healing stream.”

He does not protest as he is guided down to a bench and the Lord bends to remove his boots. He does not move as his tunic is undone and pushed from his shoulders. He does not say a word as his fine silver shirt is pulled over his head.

But he does flinch when hands unloose his britches. 

“Be at ease, child.” Slender hands lift him to his feet and he steps out of his leggings. “Go into the stream and bathe. All will be well.”

Legolas looks back at the Lord Celeborn once before stepping into the stream. The cool water caresses his body, taking away the tiny hurts of his skin. He wades out to the deeper parts and submerges, holding his breath, his hair fanning out around his head.

He closes his eyes and drifts on the gentle current, trying to forget the past day. The life of his kind is long and he wonders if he will always carry the scars of that night.

He opens his eyes and above him, through the clear water he can see two figures robed in white. Soft golden hair flowing past a waist indicates the Lady has joined them. 

The other disrobes and steps into the water. Nakedness is nothing to be ashamed of for his kind, yet he shies away from the approach. Strong hands encircle his arms and pull him up to the surface. “I only mean to treat your hurts, young prince.”

They move to the shallows and Legolas watches as a cloth is lathered with sweet smelling soap. It was more than he could have hoped for when he filled his pitcher, to be free of the scent and essence of Aragorn.

“Aragorn awaits you beyond the trees.”

The cloth finds his hand and gently scrubs, moving up to his arm and then across his shoulders and then down the other arm. His chest is bathed, careful attention paid to sensitive and sore nipples and then the cloth moves lower, down his stomach and around to his abused back.

“He seeks your forgiveness for he was overcome.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Legolas shifts uncomfortably under the ministrations.

“The quest must continue. The fellowship must succeed. But be vigilant, young prince, for men are weak.”

The cloth stops on his lower back and there is a question in Celeborn’s eyes. Legolas knows what is being asked. He nods his head and the hands traveled lower to clean between his legs and at his tender opening, washing his body of Aragorn’s abuse. 

Now if only I can rid the attack from my mind.

*~*~*

Frodo returns to the camp shaken, but soon settles in to sleep with his kinsmen. Boromir has finally succumbed to slumber and the dwarf continues to snore. 

Aragorn knows he will find no peace this night. 

He sits with his back to a tree, his knees pulled up and his chin resting on them. His mind will not let him rest. Every time he closes his eyes he can see the atrocities he committed against his friend.

_Legolas bound and bleeding._

Legolas squirming under him pleading for Aragorn to cease.

And there is more, much more, but his mind will not let him grasp the images, so horrible that he shies away from them.

And he can not explain what would compel him to do such horrible things. Now and in his right mind he has no answers. But he was not in his right mind. He knows this to be true. 

But should he forgive himself for his weaknesses as his friend still suffers?

Legolas left the grove some time ago and has not returned. 

And Aragorn fears that he will not be coming back.

Light presses behind his closed eyes and he lifts his head. Before him stands the Lady Galadriel and she is holding out her hand to him. 

He takes it without hesitation and rises to his feet. They walk hand and hand through the great forest and down a winding path that opens up into a great valley. He can hear a stream near by, but they stop before entering the clearing.

“Do not let your heart be so troubled, Aragorn. You are Isildur's heir and yet have a part to play.”

He can feel tears pressing at the back of his eyes. How can he not be troubled by his actions?

“Men are weak and easily corrupted,” she said. “But you have not succumbed to its power.”

“Nay, my Lady…I have fallen. It took my very mind and used me to…”

“Not true, Aragorn.” Galadriel held up her hand, placing it tenderly upon his cheek. “The power of the ring would bind us all. It beckoned you to it and used you thusly, but you have withstood it’s allure.”

“But I have hurt him…I have ra…”

She shook her head, a deep sadness in her piercing eyes. “Legolas knows this to be true. He has seen the evil indwell you and yet he remains. Your fates lie intertwined and we yet not know the part it will play The quest must continue. The fellowship must go on.”

Aragorn looks up and around the path, deeply ashamed, yet concerned for his friend. “He is here?”

“Yes, just beyond the trees and in the healing stream. You must go and fetch some herbs, be ready when I call.” She leaves him then, standing in the moonlight. He watches from the cover of trees as she steps to her husband’s side. They speak but for a moment and then the Lord removes his robes and steps into the water.

He almost moves forward as well, but the Lady turns and looks at him. She has given him a task. He turns to the trees and the flowering plants, looking for what will be needed to sooth Legolas’ hurts. 

He finds what he needs and returns to the place overlooking the stream. Celeborn is washing Legolas, removing dirt and cleaning wounds. He brings Legolas out of the water and to a sheet that has been left by the banks. 

He beckons the younger elf to recline and begins to dry the wet skin. The Lady stays close, speaking to Legolas, but Aragorn can not hear what is being said and then all three sets of eyes turn toward him.

He moves from the trees and into the clearing, carrying the things he has gathered. 

He does not know if he should speak or approach, so he stands still. 

“Come Aragorn.” The Lord Celeborn instructs. “All is well.”

He does not see how this can be, but he steps closer and looks upon his friend for the first time today. His hair is flowing loose and unbraided, still wet from the water and he is draped with a sheet.

What skin Aragorn can see is marred with darkening bruises and lacerations.

“Closer, you must attend to his wounds,” the Lady tells him, “help him heal.”

He steps forward, unable to bring himself any closer. He can not bare to look upon the damage he has caused, can not bring himself to touch the one he so hurt.

The Lord approaches him, pulling him forward sternly by the arm. “You must be the one,” he implores.

Aragorn kneels on the sheet, unable to meet Legolas’ eyes. “I am sorry, Mellon. I had no cause to harm you, I did not know…”

“Aragorn. I do not wish to speak of it.”

He looks then, seeing the elf laid out in front of him, eyes sad and yet somehow trusting.

“We will leave you.” Galadriel says, taking her husband by the arm and leading him into the surrounding woods. “All will be well…rest.”

Once they are alone, Aragorn turns his head again.

“Do I disgust you so…is my body a…”

“No, no…it is I that is disgusting. I have done this to you, Mellon…I have bruised you with my own hands, defiled you…” A slender hand reaches up and rests on his forearm.

“You have done none of those things. I know it twas not you.”

“How can you say such things, Legolas…I was the one who bound you to a tree and sorely used you…I was the one who ra…” he can not even bring himself to say the word.

“I was raped,” Legolas tells him, sitting up and wincing, compounding Aragorn’s guilt. “By your hands and by your body, but not by you. I looked into your eyes and I saw the evil within you. But it was not you, Mellon. The whispers that called to you, imploring you to take what you desired most…”

The tears that had been pressing fall. He wipes at his eyes, not caring that he is showing weakness. “But I let it come in…I acted on it, it was me…” He sinks to the ground across from Legolas. “Please forgive me…”

Legalos is silent for a stretch of time and when he speaks, his voice is strong. “I do forgive you, my friend. He has used your desires against you, hoping to strike the fellowship and cause us to fail…We will fight him together.”

A strong arm came around his shoulder as he continues to weep. How can Legolas say those words? How can he be so near Aragorn and not shrink away, not loathe him?

Time passes as his face dries. If Legolas is willing to forgive him, then he should take it as a gift. He sniffs a few times and wipes his face on his sleeve.

When he looks up, Legolas has reclined on the linen and he says, “Can I help you tend your hurts, my friend?” 

Legolas’ body stiffens, but by and by he nods his head.

“Lie still, Mellon. I will not harm you.”

Never again.

He watches as the elf relaxes, releasing his hold on the sheets.

Aragorn sets out his herbs, making pastes of some, crushing others. He starts a fire in a near by pit, finding a pitcher of water to warm over the flame.

Some pungent flowers go into the liquid to make a tea and when it is the right temperature, he pours a cup for his friend. “Here, drink this. It will help with the hurts.”

Legolas reaches for the mug, shifting up and letting the sheets pool around his waist. He drinks the brew, not taking the time to taste it. 

Aragorn tentatively rests a hand on Legolas’ back while he finishes his drink, gently feeling the bruises over the shoulders, wanting to make up for the rough treatment of earlier. 

His hands check the small wound on Legolas’ forehead, near his hairline. There is a lump there, from the rock that Aragorn has struck him with. 

Using the paste, he smears the ointment over a few of the abrasions on the beautiful face.

And in his mind he can hear the voices begin.

*~*~*

Legolas is resting in a great tree, taking comfort in its boughs. He knows he must take this chance, this reprieve to rest and regain his strength, but he can not.

So he sits, pondering his predicament. 

Days have passed since Aragorn has been overcome, but the pain of the violent attack is still fresh. His body is healing, but his mind still sorely troubles him.

He knows he must forgive his friend’s deeds, if only for the journey still yet to come. 

And a part of him welcomes the forgiveness, so that he may move forward, put to waste those things which lay behind him. Then a darker corner of his mind reminds him of how he was taken against his will, without consent or consideration.

And still he catches Aragorn looking at him, when the man thinks he is not aware, there is still something sinister lurking behind the mask of friendship. 

Springing to his feet and climbing higher, Legolas can not reconcile the feelings that surge through him. The would-be King had no control over his deeds, yet his body took pleasure from his actions. Breaking through the canopy he reaches the sunlight, letting the warmth thereof sink into his chilled soul.

He is tainted... knowing deep down, that if his companion had only but to ask, he would have yielded.

And there was the conflict that arose within him. For many a year Legolas had longed to give his heart to this beautiful human, to claim Aragorn as his very own. 

But now...

A ruckus reaches his ears from below and he can hear the hobbits chatting as they scurry by the tree's trunk, calling out for him. 

The fellowship grows ever suspicious. 

They seek to know why he refuses to join them as they explore the beauty of the woods.

But he can not yet confide in them, not even the dwarf.

Legolas has told no one save the Lord and Lady, but he can not be certain that Aragorn has held his tongue. Perhaps, with a need of comfort he may have confessed to Gimli or the human.

At evening meal each night Gimli asks him to walk among the trees with him. Each night he refuses, noting the disappointment on his new friend’s face.

He can not take that chance. What if he were to be caught unaware? What if the dwarf were to question him?

So for the last few days he has taken his meals among his kin, mourning for more then the passing of his dear friend Gandalf. 

The scurrying feet pass below him again and he smiles just a bit. They only need but to look up to find him, yet he stays perfectly still. He knows they only seek to comfort, even without knowing the reason why and it truly warms his fragile and breaking heart. 

Once the little folk clear the next hill and disappear into the foliage, he descends the tree and the comfort that he had found flees like the morning dew.

There is still a danger here. He can feel it in his very bones.

*~*~*

Ever since passing into the borders and tending to Legolas, Aragorn has withdrawn from the fellowship. He does not make merry with the hobbits nor share stories of his adventures. He sits alone at mealtime, avoids the dwarf’s questioning glares and searches for some answer for his doings within himself.

He can reconcile his weakness, yet he does not want to admit them. 

Never before has such a darkness overcame him and he questions if he will be able to resist such another temptation.

The legendary beauty of the Elven kind is not lost on him and Legolas is surely the fairest he has ever lain eyes on. For many years he has desired to be with his companion, but has not acted on those desires, for his duties lie with another. 

Aragorn ponders those feelings as the Lady gives gifts to the fellowship. The hobbits all chatter at once, pleased with their offerings of rope and daggers and the dwarf stammers over his own request, but Aragorn is only interested in the reaction of one.

He watches as slender fingers examine an exquisite bow, the lovely face lighting up in sheer wonder at the craftsmanship and when Legolas looks his way, he immediately drops his gaze from Aragorn’s.

And the man's heart breaks for what is lost between them.

They depart in sturdy Elven boats and journey for many miles, leaving the fabled woods and what protection it may offer. 

The river runs for miles and miles. Aragorn enjoys showing the small folk the wonders of his lost heritage as they paddle along the ancient northern borders of Gondor. The ruins of his people marked by two huge carved statues of kings of old.

"The Argonaph. " Aragorn says, lightly tapping Frodo on the shoulder. "Long have I desired to look upon the Kings of old, my kin."

He looks toward Boromir and sees he is stirred to be returning to his homeland. Both Pippin and Merry scramble to get out of the boat even before it approaches the shoreline, tripping over short legs and hairy feet and Boromir lets loose with a deep belly laugh at their antics.

For a moment the man's heart is lighter, but then he looks upon the elf. 

He and Gimli are pulling their boat upon the shore and when Legolas glances his way Aragorn can feel an evil descend upon him.

It slithers under his skin, calling to him in the dark recesses of his mind, yet he resists.

Once they are all assembled on the shore he reveals his plan. "We cross the lake at night fall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approached Mordor from the north."

The dwarf argues, but Aragorn pays little mind.

"We should leave now..." Legolas says, looking keen into the deep forest surrounding them.

Aragorn says something about the cover of darkness, finding it hard to concentrate with the elf so close.

Legolas still is looking off into the bleakness of the trees and says, "it's not the Eastern shore that worries me." And then he turns to look Aragorn right in the eye's. "A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. Something draws near... I can feel it."

Before the sun has fallen they have lost one of their own and the hobbits are scattered, Frodo's words still ringing in his ears, _"can you protect me from yourself? Would you destroy it?"_

He stops Legalos as he pushes the beautifully engraved boat into the waters, flinching at the subtle twitch of the elf’s shoulders, the slight straightening of the spine as if on guard for the next attack. 

There is yet a small hope for Merry and Pippin.

Their course lies another way

They run for many days, across the rocks and plains, on the heels of the fell creatures, no time to rest, no time to ponder anything but their next course of action. 

The sun rises and the sun sets and still they run.

On the third day a token of life is found amongst the rotted leaves on the trodden ground, so they push on, with a lighter heart.

Then the pounding of hooves are heard in the distance.

The riders of Rohan gather around them as Aragorn shouts for news.

Gimli raises his axes and Legolas shows more ire then in many days as they are surrounded by the riders.

And alas, when they find the smouldering ruins his heart plummets again and he can feel something skitter under his flesh.

Aragorn dare not look to his companions.

The smell of burning flesh and vile bodily fluids assault his nostrils and he kneels on the ground, bowing his head low, pushing the raising voices down within himself.

He tells himself he will not yield to them again even as his cock hardens to its full length. His blade is yet by his side, and it would only take but a minute to catch the dwarf unaware. Without a head he would not be able to stop Aragorn from claiming his prize. 

He can smell the elf behind him and as he turns and starts to rise, already imagining bending that beautiful body to his will he sees it.

A small indentation in the ground.

“A hobbit lay here.” He hears himself say and the spiking desire recedes, his cock wilting. He runs his hands over the ground, imagining Merry and Pippin, bound and struggling to get away from their captors. He finds the cut rope and his heart sings yet again. 

Now all eyes are on the old and ancient woods.

Gimli tightens his hold on his axe as they proceed cautiously into the dark trees.

“These woods are very old,” he hears Legolas say. But within his mind he starts to feel a presence. 

The others surely sense it too.

“The white wizard approaches.” Legolas whispers, a slight edge of fear in his voice.

Weapons are quickly drawn, but in the end they are of little use. 

For it is Gandalf that stands before them, he is returned to them new and yet whole. 

The old man looks seemingly through Aragorn and he shivers. While Gandalf smiles and explains that he was indeed once known by that name, Aragorn can feel his mind being touched, his deeds being exposed and laid bare.

Withered hands reach for him and then the others, and where he expects to feel deep shame, he instead feels as if a balm is laid to his very soul. 

Yes, the shame yet remains, but hope springs forth anew.

They have a task to complete, a path set before them and Aragorn knows that redemption lies in that direction.

*~*~* 

They travel the plains of Rohan, toward Edoras and the Golden Hall.

The dwarf is seated behind him, arms resting on either side of Legolas slender frame. His newfound friend speaks from time to time of his home in the caves, of his kin, of his travels. He prattles on as if to distract Legolas, as if he is working up the nerve to ask the questions he most wants to ask. 

Legolas listens with half an ear, nodding when appropriate, speaking only when necessary.

He does not desire to speak of his life. 

It is so small and unimportant in comparison.

Too much weighs upon him.

_...the lives of the hobbits hanging precariously out of grasp...the quest balancing on a knives edge...the future of the whole of middle earth..._

"Here dwells Theoden, King of Rohan." Gandalf says, "whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Theoden is now very strong."

They find the withering old man sitting on his throne, surrounded by his council of one. 

Legolas, and the others take up a position to assist Gandalf as he deals with the evil here. The small resistance falls swiftly and in the end Gandalf draws Saruman as if he is poison from a wound.

Grima sneers at them from under Gimli's heavy booted foot and when he meets Legolas' eyes, his forked tongue peeks out to lick at dry and chapped lips, his rotted tooth smirk replaces the disdain and he speaks words that he thinks only elven ears will hear.

The slur was meant to dig, to barb Legolas' skin, but the worm stops whispering when Gimli steps down on his windpipe, a murderous look in his eyes and Legolas wonders how good is the hearing of the dwarfs. 

Legolas turns away from the choking man, sees how Aragorn holds Eowyn back, how she rushes to her uncle, the look in Aragorn's eyes, and then those eyes traveled to Legolas.

He sees a sadness there. A longing he cannot explain.

He is no wilting flower, no damsel in need of rescue, his soul is intact, yet he desires the taint from his body to be removed as swiftly as Saruman's poison.

But there is no time to dwell on his desires now.

Soon they find themselves sitting in the great hall and tactics of war are being discussed. The arrival of the children bring news of wild men killing and pillaging the outlying villages.

The King is in fear for his people, and rightly so.

Gandalf and then Aragorn implore the King to ride out and meet their attackers, but instead, Theoden chooses to flee.

At first light, the city will be emptied and all will be directed toward the safety of Helm's Deep, but tonight, they will find a small reprieve.

As the King departs to make ready for the early morning departure, Gimli finishes his simple meal and rises to retire to his borrowed chambers.

Gandalf makes ready to depart as well, patting Legolas on the shoulder as he passes, giving him a meaningful look before asking Gimli to walk with him, along the high walls of the city, before they take rest for the evening.

Legolas can feel a tension in his body as he looks across the long table at the man. Aragorn moves to take a seat, resting his hands on the tabletop, looking down at his calloused fingers, picking at the crumbs of bread left by Gimli's meal.

"Would you like something to eat?" He looks up at Legolas then, hopeful. "I'm sure we could find something to your liking here."

These are the most words that Aragorn has spoken to him in many days, more words spoken since the night that Aragorn had defiled him. 

He closes his eyes as the images roll behind his eyelids, shaking his head. "I am not hungry."

"Legolas, I..."

Legolas can tell that he is struggling within himself... searching for words, or perhaps some action that will reconcile them and in truth that is Legolas' desire as well, for he longs to return to before... to somehow get back to their easy friendship. 

"Aragorn..." but before he can finish his words, the man is reaching across the table to him, placing one hand on top of his own.

"Please, Mellon... let me speak. I wish to say the words, while I can." Aragorn caresses his hand, giving it a small pat before sitting up straighter. "I wish that, that time had never befallen me, my friend. I wish that I were but stronger. The calling of the ring, the evil contained therein used my deepest and most secret desires against me. You must believe me. I would never wish to harm you in any way. You are my dearest friend."

Legolas does not know how to answer the man. Aragorn sits before him, deep-seated sorrow in the depths of his eyes. And yet he can not give him any hope. Oh, he wishes to relieve the sorrow and the guilt he sees in Aragorn. Yet he can still sense something hidden within his friend.

"As I have told you," Legolas says. "I have forgiven you, my friend."

"It is not forgiveness I ask of you. For I know that you have given it." Aragorn runs his hand through long unruly hair, seemingly searching for the proper words. "I was taken in the fall, I was used and in return used you, and yet it was my desire..."

"You so desired me?" Legolas looks down at his own hands then. 

Aragorn did not immediately answer, he continues to finger the crumbs left on the table by Gimli's meal. "If it were in my power to change my destiny, for you Legolas, I would."

Legolas raises his head and sees that he has the man's attention, dark eyes bore into him. "It is not the future I desire of you, we only have but this evening..."

"You...you would have me, even after I..."

"It was not you. I know it was not you." Legolas stands from the table, moving around to sit by the man. "You are my friend. You would not harm me, I know this. You were used as I was used."

Aragorn shakes his head, not able to accept the words. "But I force... the things I did to you... "

"To have me...you need but only ask." Legolas places a hand on the man's shoulder. "It would have been true of that night as well." Aragorn gives him a startled look and starts to speak, but Legolas places his fingers on the man's lips. "Tomorrow we make for the refuge of Helm's Deep, where we well may meet our end. I only seek to give comfort and perhaps to gain it."

The fingers pressed against Aragorn's lips are gently kissed. "Then let us enjoy what is left of this night."

In the city many people go about the business of packing up, as they travel through the inner courts they encounter town folk and warriors alike, but they pay them little heed, their minds are not on the upcoming travels and what lies beyond.

Tonight they are set on their own course. 

Aragorn takes up his hand as they reach the outer courts and the crowds of people thin. 

The sun will be up soon, the night grows short, but Legolas knows they still have time.

They reach an outlying building and Legolas finds it odd that the King would place guests of a higher station in such shabby quarters, but when Aragorn breaks the lock on the barred door he smiles at the man's cunning. And he is a bit surprised to feel a bolt of thrill zing up his spine.

The building is old and of ill repair, but there is covered furnishings and a hearth with dry piled wood. He sets about gathering kindling and when he returns many candles are lit and a pile of skins are arranged in front of the hearth.

He sets about getting a fire going, to warm them and the small building. As he works the twigs and smaller pieces of wood he can hear Aragorn behind him. The man hands him his light, the one they brought with them from the great hall and he touches flame to kindling. Soon the whole room is aglow in warm fire light.

When he rises and turns, Aragorn is standing by the skins. He looks a little lost and Legolas means to change that look. He goes to the man, standing inches from him and sees the flinch that Aragorn attempts to hide by moving back and sitting down on the skins. He joins him there, resting back, not sure how he should start, who should take the lead.

He knows what he wishes, what he desires, but he does not know what Aragorn wants. "Shall I..."

"Do you..."

They both laugh. It is amusing as neither one of them are blushing virgins.

"Aragorn. I do want you..." he starts. "I do want all of you."

When he finishes speaking his friend reaches forward to drawl him closer and plants a chaste kiss on his lips. The mouth taste of earth and mint and wine and he wants more, much, much more.

He pushes Aragorn back on the skins, running his hands over broad chest and shoulders, deepening the kiss. 

He is in no hurry, yet he feels an urgency deep inside him. He wishes to see this body laid bare before him, to feel it's warmth against his skin, to feel Aragorn's length of hardness deep within him.

Strong hands raise to grasp his shoulders as the kisses continue. 

He pulls away but for a brief moment to take a breath and look upon the man below him. Aragorn is breathing heavily, his eyes are pressed tightly closed. "You are so beautiful," he says, delving in to taste the waiting mouth.

He can feel the strong muscles under the tunic, the smooth plains of the man's chest and he desires to look upon the flesh. He reaches to the laces of the shirt and the man's hands help him undo them, help pull the fabric up and over Aragorn's head. 

"I would see you as well." Aragorn says, so he removes his over-shirt and then the one below, baring his body for his bed mate. "You are a rare jewel indeed," Aragorn tells him, then surges up to reclaim him, ravaging and plundering the cavern of his mouth, shifting them so that Legolas finds himself under the man's weight.

He tries to regain his breath as Aragorn tenderly claims his ear lobe, sucking the tip before moving downward to find a ticklish spot at the bend of his neck. "Mmm..."

Desire sparks anew with each nibble and he finds himself squirming under Aragorn, wanting to quicken the pace. 

Aragorn seems content with licking a little lower, dragging his tongue over collarbone and between Legolas' breasts. He moves to the left, circling the pebbled nipple before sucking it deeply into his wet and hot mouth. Teeth scrape the tender flesh and hot breath blows over the sensitive skin causing Legolas to shiver.

And Legolas finds that the hands have moved lower to his leggings. Soon they are both bare and intertwined, hard and wanting, soft fur at his back, but in that moment it feels of dry leaves and hard ground.

Aragorn draws him closer, letting Legolas shake in his arms. 

"I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Mellon."

He shakes his head, because he does not wish to speak of it, does not wish for those memories to intrude on the present. 

He is being held and gentle thumbs rub under the orbits of his eyes, wiping away tears he does not know he has shed. "Will that, that night had never come to pass...will that I had been but stronger." 

"Do not speak of it, Aragorn. We were cheated of our first encounter and I do not wish to be cheated of this time together." Legolas shifts under his would be lover, pressing up and into the man, showing him that he still desires him.

"Then let me make you feel well, Mellon...let me take away the hurts..." Aragorn descends upon him again, claiming his mouth in demanding kisses. Hands roam over his skin, touching him everywhere, drawing gooseflesh and shuddering breaths.

Legolas hand reaches out, groping, as his body is being ravished with mouth and tongue and hands. He finds his pack and fumbles for the pot that rests within the folds. It is like the pot that all his companions carry. It contains a thick balm used for minor hurts or cracked skin, but it had many other purposes as well.

A hand seizes his own, taking the pot from him and flipping off the lid. He watches as Aragorn dips a few fingers in. "Are you certain?" 

"Yes...I am certain."

Aragorn sits back on his heels, pulling Legolas legs forward, bent at the knee and laying them to rest on either side of Aragorn's hips. He leans forward and Legolas watches as he bends over his prick, taking it in his mouth whole. "Ah..." his whole body stiffens, but, bit by bit, he relaxes as his cock is worked in the mouth, sucked and nibbled from root to tip.

He's worked so hard that he is near his climax when Aragorn pops his cock from his mouth. "I want to be in you," the man says and Legolas nods his head, for it is his desire as well.

He tenses again as he feels something pressing against his opening, but Aragorn is leaning over him, meeting his lips with gentle pecks as he pushes in. The burn is slow, but his leg is picked up and placed over one strong shoulder and then the other leg as well. The angle changes and Aragorn is touching that place deep within him and he sees night stars of a different kind. Sheer pleasure zips up his spine and when he opens his mouth, a moan, deep and low comes forth.

"Yes, my love...let me make you feel well again."

Aragorn picks up his pace, rocking him hard over the soft furs, moving his body with each upward thrust. The man's hand squeezes his cock at the base, and Legolas thinks he may come out of his skin. "Please," he hears himself beg. 

The hand on him moves, from base to tip in a slippery, but firm grip and in perfect time with the cock fucking his ass.

It's primal, but this time, it's right and Legolas wants to feel Aragorn's seed fill him.

"Please, please, please..."

"Yes," Aragorn says and Legolas lets loose with a deep shudder, his whole body is shaking with the force of it and Aragorn is still pumping his cock as he spurts creamy come over the man's hand. "You are so beautiful." he hears his lover say. "I wish to stay this way forever."

He nods his head, unable to speak and thinks, the night is still upon us, we have time.

He comes to himself and is a bit surprise to feel a hard cock still filling him, still rocking him gently against the furs, the body over him resting lightly against his chest. 

"Are you well?" Aragorn asks as he presses himself up on his hands and lowers Legolas' quivering legs to rest on the furs. "Have I hurt you?"

"Nay," Legolas says, shivering as Aragorn is still seated within him. "You have not hurt me."

The smile that graces Aragorn's face is like a balm to his soul, but more then that, the taint of his skin has been cleaned.

Aragorn leans forward and presses a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Well, then...let us proceed." and before Legolas can say a word he is pulled forward in the man's arms and up into Aragorn's lap. The cock in him slips ever deeper and he can’t but help squeeze Aragorn in return, hearing the man moan deep in his throat. 

Strong hands grasp his hips and lift him up, but he pushes the hands away, sinking back down on the cock, liking the sounds that Aragorn is making. He moves up and down, working the prick in him, kissing the swollen lips of the man in front of him. 

His own cock is filling again and he enjoys the contrast of his smooth sack and cock brushing against Aragorn's furry belly. He enjoys much about the body in front of him, but he wishes for more. "Will you take me from behind?" he asks and feels Aragorn stiffen.

"I...I would have you anyway you please, my love..but are you sure?"

He thought that he was...it is the way he enjoys being taken the most. "I am sure Aragorn...I..."

"Then it pleases me." Aragorn tells him, taking his mouth in a passionate kiss. 

Perhaps his lover senses that Legolas desires more or perhaps he senses that Legolas does not want to be treated like he may break, but like a warrior and brother at arms. Whatever the cause, the man now seems set on a course of action, devouring Legolas' mouth as a starving man might devour a morsel of bread.

Once the kiss is broken Legolas finds himself unseated and briskly flipped, strong hands pulling harshly up on his hips and a hard cock plunges back into him. The bruising grip pushes him away and pulls him back again and again, creating a sweet, stinging, pain, impaling him. His opening spasms around the cock and he clenches the prick each time Aragorn hits that spot deep within him. 

The man keeps up a bruising pace, his rhythm steady and strong and Legolas can feel his sack drawling up. "Aragorn!" he shouts, pressing his face down to rest on the soft surface below him, fisting the covers in one hand and his cock in the other, raising his ass higher to meet Aragorn's next few thrusts.

"Yes..." Aragorn says, pulling Legolas toward him and holding him there, still and tight. 

Legolas squeezes Aragorn as he comes. Feeling Aragorn's seed fill him and then he's spurting his own seed over the furs below them, rocking and shuddering against the man behind him. Pressing back against him trying to get as much of Aragorn's glorious cock in him as he possibly can.

The only sounds coming from the small room are their harsh and heavy breathing. His body feels heavy and sore, spent and Legolas longs to lie down and rest. 

Aragorn rubs his lower back, humming a soft song under his breath as Legolas calms his breathing. The hands move to pat his hip as Aragorn carefully pulls out and lays them down. 

The gentle humming continues from behind him, meant to comfort, as Aragorn lays his arm over him and pulls him close and for the next few moments they only take the time to catch their breath.

The night air is cool as the fire dwindles, but neither want to get up from the warm embrace they share to tend it.

Strong arms tighten around him, gentle dry lips caress the side of his neck as Aragorn pulls the hides up to cover their nakedness. "You are my light in this dark world, Mellon...you are my hope for the morrow." 

Legolas does not know what the morrow will bring. Does not know what lies ahead in the long journey to come or what part he may play, but he does know that Aragorn will ever be apart of his future, no matter their duties.

"As you are mine," he turns in the embrace to kiss the lips of his lover, knowing their time here grows short, yet he lets his eyes glaze over in blessed rest, the first peaceful sleep he's enjoyed in many days. 

There is much darkness in the world, but for now, Legolas can take comfort in the light freely offered by the man that embraces him.

The End


End file.
